


The Real Man

by daphnerunning



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: First Time, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waver is good at learning things from books. Rider has a different approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Real Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577195) by [CarrotCesca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrotCesca/pseuds/CarrotCesca)



Rider is huge.

For some reason, that makes it easier to touch him.

He takes up half the room, it seems, sprawling on the floor looking at maps, leaning over to grab a snack, and with that much  _volume_  it’s impossible not to lean against him, to rest a foot on his leg, or to find himself using the big man as a cushion while he reads. 

It doesn’t  _mean_  anything, obviously. It’s just that wherever he wants to be, well, Rider is there.

“Hey, I thought I told you, you don’t need that book.” 

Waver snatches the book back from Rider’s dangling hand, clutching it to his chest--less from a need to have it close, more from defensively trying to hang on to it. “You’re busy. I like learning things from books, I’m good at it.”

“That’s not real learning, that’s just scholar stuff. You’ve got the real man!” He grabs the book away, frowning down at the page. “Who’s that supposed to be?”

The blush is high in Waver’s cheeks as he tucks his knees up to his chest, trying to sound casual. “H-he’s supposed to be y-your lover.”

“Eh? Which one?”

“Wouldn’t you know?!”

“Kind of hard to recognize, all made out of stone and everything. What’s his name?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet!” Waver snaps. “I—so it’s true?”

“How the hell should I know?” Rider tosses the book back into Waver’s lap, shrugging. “You can’t learn everything from books.”

“You’d just—say it like that? That you were—“ God, he can’t even look at his Servant, not without giving away everything he’s thinking, and that’s the _last_ thing he wants. Maybe it’ll soar right over Rider’s head, like some things from the modern world seem to, and he won’t have to pursue this conversation any further.

Rider’s surprisingly agile for such a big man, turning to face his Master in the space of a breath. Waver hadn’t even realized he was leaning on the big man until he pitches sideways, his shoulder hitting the floor as Rider leans down over him. “Do you think anyone ever tried to stop me?” he asks, bushy red eyebrows raised, an amused little grin playing across his face. “From doing exactly as I liked, with anyone I wanted?”

Rider is so big he’s pretty much _everywhere_. That makes it so much easier, almost inevitable, that Waver should be touching him. He’s only a few inches away, well within his own personal space, when he reaches his hands up.

It’s not his fault that they press against Rider’s chest, fisting in that stupid t-shirt, a wordless question in the tentative tug downwards.

There’s an eternity after that gentle pull, where Waver can only think about every stupid decision he’s ever made, about stupid assumptions, about historians who are probably wrong because there’s no way he’s gotten this lucky, about how, all things considered, Rider would probably have preferred it if he’d just fucking tackled the man and shown some backbone for once—

Then all he’s noticing is that Rider’s beard is softer than he’d expected, scratching gently against his cheek as the big man nuzzles down, one massive hand coming to rest on his hair. He’s gentle, in a way maybe only giants can really be, Waver thinks dizzily as Rider kisses him. There’s a sense of great power held in check, the kind of man that could tear a phone book in half with his bare hands somehow capable of a soft brush of his lips.

Waver has only a second to marvel at that before the surge of heady, potent arousal courses through him, setting his nerves aflame as he lurches upwards, yanking down hard on that stupid, _stupid_ t-shirt, crushing  his lips against Rider’s, skin tingling all over from just the barest brush of the man’s hand, the scratch of his beard, the heat and the feel and the smell of him, strong clean healthy male filling his senses.

It’s more than that, though—with Rider, everything is simply _more_. He’s larger than life in every way, and the raw power of his body is enough to make Waver’s breath come short, his lips trembling even as he leans up to suck and bite at Rider’s lips.

Two huge hands come around his waist, lifting him easily as Rider straightens, setting Waver astride his lap, and Waver scrambles to arrange himself, suddenly apprehensive at the way his legs have to splay so far just to properly straddle the man.

Suddenly everything seems like it’s moving fast, way too fast, and wasn’t it only a minute ago that he was reading about a dead soldier and getting jealous? And now he’s squirming on the lap of one of the greatest warriors to ever live, wrapped up in giant arms, and god, Rider can knock him flat on his back with the flick of a finger, he’s in _way_ over his head even if his cock _is_ rock-hard and his hands are clenching into Rider’s shirt and his breath is coming in whining, needing little huffs—

“Shh.” Rider pulls away, running a soothing hand down his back. “Calm down, boy.”

Waver shivers, leaning up against his chest, gulping for air. “I’m not afraid or anything,” he lies quickly, looking up into that rough-hewn ruddy face. _And I’m not a boy_ , he wants to add, though he hardly feels like anything else next to a man who’s older than ages, larger than life.

Rider tilts his head upwards, and Waver squirms, gasping as that rough beard scratches across his neck. Straight white teeth leave nips and tiny bruises as he works his way down; by the time he reaches the top button on Waver’s shirt, Waver’s forgotten why he should be nervous, hips thrusting forward in needy little circles against the hard muscle of Rider’s abdomen.

“Relax. This is an honor. There was a time,” Rider says against his skin, the rumble of his voice so powerful from this close, “that proud young warriors fought to the death for the honor of sharing my tent.”

The heated flush turns angry, and Waver shoves at the big man’s chest, with about as much effect as shoving a brick wall. “Go find one of them, then, stupid Servant! You want me to _thank_ you for—“

Rider’s kiss is less gentle, more thorough, tongue sliding between Waver’s lips with all the force of a conquest, and for once, Waver is glad that his stupid Servant never follows his orders.

“Why are you so—“ Rider pulls back a moment, an eyebrow raised, vague intrigue and surprise on his face. “Have you not—“

“I—of course not! I’ve been busy with my studies!”

Rider snorts, dragging his hand down Waver’s chest, his belly. “If you were one of my people,” he muses, cupping up between Waver’s legs and grinning when he cries out, “by now you’d know well how to ride a horse, and wield a blade, and please a man.”

“We—we’re not in— _God_ please don’t stop,” Waver pants, wriggling and arching into that touch, every press of that broad palm against the hardness of his cock. “D-don’t need those things—we have your chariot, and I don’t need a sword when I have my magic—“

“And?”

Waver lets out a strangled groan, arms looping around Rider’s strong neck as he lurches forward, breathlessly, pathetically close already. “And hurry up and show me already!”

In all honesty, he’s not sure what he was expecting, or why it’s any kind of a surprise when Rider pulls himself out. He gulps, trying to quell the tremor in his hands as he reaches out, hearing a low hiss when his fingers close around the shaft, his two hands only barely overlapping. The fear is back, and Rider seems to _know_ , kissing him again until he’s little more than an aching, twitching thing.

“Relax,” Rider rumbles against his lips, and Waver can’t help but obey. “I’ll take care of you.”

Waver nods, just once, and surrenders himself.

Every touch of Rider’s rough hands sparks a fire, dragging down from his sides to his belly, stripping him faster than a man without much knowledge of modern clothing should be able to.

Waver isn’t quite sure when he loses that nervousness, or why, but maybe it has something to do with how confident Rider is, the way the man smiles, brushes an easy kiss against Waver’s forehead, and even when he coaxes Waver over onto his hands and knees, it’s not bad.

 

One easy curl of a big hand is more than enough to cover his cock, and Waver shudders, rutting into that large calloused palm, his knees spreading wider almost voluntarily. “Hnn...Rider...please…”

 

Something blunt and slippery slides up the cleft of his ass, and he chokes off a squeak, lurching forward to bury his head on his forearms. 

 

“Easy, boy. I won’t hurt you.”

 

God, he believes it. More than that, he _wants_ it, and he shoves back, achingly empty and longing to be filled.

 

The first tense slick slide into his body isn’t as bad as he’d feared, and Waver hisses out a breath, hands fisting in the sheets. “G-good, good,” he babbles, “that’s good, I like that, please fuck me--”

 

“That’s my finger, boy.”

 

Waver’s face burns even as he fights the urge to wriggle, his cock so hard in Rider’s grasp that he’s leaking. He scowls back over his shoulder, snapping, “Then just do it already!”

 

Ruddy brows draw together, and Rider murmurs, “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re such a little thing, just let me show you--”

 

“I want it!” At this point it’s stubbornness driving him more than good sense--stubbornness, and the bright spark of wondering if Rider’s _finger_ feels so good twisting and curling inside him, what the _rest_ of him will feel like. He scoots his knees wider, and he can’t help but like the way Rider sucks in an appreciative breath-- _for me? Because he’s looking at me?_ “Don’t make me use a command spell!”

 

He hasn’t thought this through, knows it’s stupid, probably _dangerous_ , but he shivers in anticipation as that thick finger withdraws, the broad hand sliding up and down his back before fumbling with--

 

“Did you steal the Mackenzie’s cooking oil?” Waver demands, incredulous. “Of all the things you buy online, you couldn’t think--”

 

Rider shoves his head down into the bed then, tiring of his protests. “Olive oil worked just fine for me. Save your breath for screaming.”

 

That more than anything goes straight to Waver’s cock, his eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

 

It’s not that he expects that it’s going to be easy. If easy were what he wanted, he wouldn’t have flown halfway around the world to fight to the death against people a hundred times stronger than himself, just to prove his mettle.

 

But when the blunt tip of Rider’s cock presses against his hole, impossibly thick and hard, Waver starts to doubt his own sanity. 

 

A gentle, firm shove, and Waver forgets how to _breathe_ , fingers scrabbling madly at the bed, spreading his legs so wide his hips ache, the sensation of being _stretched open_ more than anything he’s practiced on his fingers, more than anything he’s ever imagined. A hiccupping sob catches in his throat, hot tears pricking his eyes and everything he can think is _fullness_.

 

“Shh,” Rider murmurs, but his voice is strained, even as he strokes gently down Waver’s chest and back, soothing him. “Ahh--been--long time since I--never a boy so _tight_ \--”

 

Maybe later Waver will feel like being grateful that Rider’s enjoying himself. For now, it’s all he can do to grit his teeth and _take it_ , squirming desperately with every thick inch that presses into him, every gentle rock of Rider’s hips that buries him deeper. 

 

By the time his ass presses back against the base of thick red hair at the base of Rider’s cock, Waver’s biting the sheets, tears streaming from his eyes, panting for breath with every twitch of his overwhelmed, overfull body. Rider’s body covers him, chest pressing up against his back, beard scratching against his neck, and Waver can’t help but turn for a kiss, even if he can’t properly breathe with how spread wide and stuffed full he is.

 

The kiss helps--ah, god, it helps, helps him remember why this is where he wants to be, why he needs this man inside him more than he needs air, why through all the strain he’s still squirming hard on that thick cock. The first time Rider starts to pull back, Waver lets out a broken whine, trying to wriggle back for more.

 

Rider chuckles, surprise and low, heated lust painting his face, as he holds Waver’s torso close in hands that seem to gentle for such a bloodthirsty man. “Easy,” he murmurs again.

 

Waver’s having none of the _easy_ any longer. As soon as he has even a fraction of his breath back, he shoves down, worming back with every short thrust, looking up pleadingly into Rider’s face. “Please,” he begs, ragged and desperate, “please, please, Rider--”

 

Riders’s broad hand comes to the small of his back, holding him firmly in place. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he breathes, but his own thrusts are faster now, and Waver can feel him _twitching_ inside, and it’s _too much_.

 

A slow, easy roll of Rider’s hips, and Waver nearly shrieks, splaying his legs apart as far as he can, past the point of pain, all to try and rut down against the bed. “Good…” His voice leaves him in a whine, and Rider’s warnings mean nothing when his body is thrumming with pleasure, every thrust on the agonizing knife’s-edge of pleasure and pain, sometimes _far_ to one side more than the other, every motion driving him harder, closer to oblivion.

 

With a strangled sob and a last perfect thrust, Waver comes hard onto the bed, thighs aching and trembling, crying out broken words that aren’t quite a name or a title. He sags down limply, only to feel the world spin as Rider picks him up through the aftershocks, pressing furious kisses against his neck. “Hold on tight,” the big man breathes, and with a mighty groan, his hips snap up against Waver’s body over and over, burying himself so deeply Waver can do nothing but cry out, certain he can feel Rider’s cock in his _throat_.

 

The sudden burst of slick wet heat inside of him is as much a shock as Rider’s teeth against his neck, nipping and suckling as he pants out a harsh few breaths, sounding more like a charging bull than a man, every hard muscle tense against Waver’s body. It’s a long few minutes before his hands stop clenching, resuming their slow, stroking motion, and by that time, Waver is sure he’s nothing but a limp rag doll anyway.

 

He waits for the surge of realization, the humiliation of realizing he’d slept with his servant, a man, one of the greatest warriors to ever live, but no splash of shame comes. He’s merely happy, turning to nuzzle into the broad chest of a man who could snap him in half with one hand.

 

He mumbles something, and Rider laughs, stroking gently through his hair. “What was that, boy?”

 

“I said it didn’t say anything like that in the book.”

 

Rider laughs as he leans down, brushing a soft kiss against Waver’s lips. “I told you, you don’t need that. You’ve got the real man.”

 

Waver squirms to turn in his lap, looping his arms around Rider’s muscular neck. “Hmm. I guess I do.”

 

_And I’m not letting him go._


End file.
